Stains
Sip my wine and feel it drip,
down my chin,
my beard,
'til at last it makes a heart shaped stain
upon the breast of my clean cotton tee.
I barely notice.
I'm breathin' fresh Autumn air
to feel the cool
wash away my worries,
try to wash away
a heart ache, stained beneath my skin
'n lungs with all their breathin'.
But stains don't wash out,
and years from now I'll see
that purple heart shaped smear,
and say,
"Good wine. Good year."
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